


Come Alive

by zahnie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, Agender Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Parent John Winchester, Coming Out, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Transphobia, Misgendering, Other, Parental Bobby Singer, Pre-Relationship, Quote: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. (Supernatural), Sam Winchester is Not Okay, Secrets, Trans Character, Trans Dean Winchester, Trans Male Character, even though he is very firmly not in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahnie/pseuds/zahnie
Summary: Dean comes back from Hell to find his body changed into one matching his gender identity.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 409





	Come Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenmonstermash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmonstermash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Made Manifest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529412) by [schmerzerling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmerzerling/pseuds/schmerzerling). 



> Inspired by [Made Manifest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529412) by [schmerzerling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmerzerling/pseuds/schmerzerling). Mine uses the same premise but is not meant to be a continuation.
> 
> This is a gift for greenmonstermash, the best and most patient of friends <3 Huge thanks also to Laura for indulging me by reading my half-finished fic out loud AND with voices :D
> 
> Setting is pretty much a rewrite of episode 4.01. I am in considerable debt to the transcribers over at Supernatural Wiki (just two and a half seasons until I will be able to look up my own answers there!). Here is their lovely and accurate [4.01 transcription](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/4.01_Lazarus_Rising_\(transcript\)).
> 
> I am not trans so this is not my lived experience. I tried very hard but definitely could have messed up! Please let me know if there are problems I should fix <3
> 
> Title from [Where We Come Alive by Ruelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqR1Q6RygR8) (though the first two songs on the fic playlist were [Let You Know by Sody](https://youtu.be/MCLhcswTs4E?t=19) and [Clarity by Zedd f. Foxes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxxstCcJlsc)) [Full playlist here](https://zahnie.tumblr.com/post/628665501028057089/playlist-for-come-alive) :D

Darkness. Stillness. He's alone.

Dean feels a sharp pain in his chest. He breathes in automatically. Old habits. No need for air in Hell.

He can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears, picking up speed. He takes another breath. Something has changed.

It's a trick, a trap, a lie. More of his old habits bubble up and Dean tries to move. His hand goes into his jeans pocket. His fingers close around his lighter. It shouldn't be there. Is this a choose-your-own-torture session? Where he's manifesting what he expects to find? He hates those the most. Too damn creative for his own good.

A flick, and a tongue of flame illuminates his situation. Lying down in a box. He touches the too-close top above him with his free hand, the rough grain of the wood against his fingertips. It feels real. It always does.

Dean focuses on his hand and the lighter goes out. He blinks the distorted afterimage away.

Breathing is just a little harder now, the air stale. He can't suppress a rasping call for help, though of course, no one will. Dean hits the top of the box. After a few punches, it breaks, dirt tumbling down onto him. He's been buried alive. That's when the panic sets in.

He claws his way to the surface somehow, drags himself out of the earth. He's gasping and crawling and everything feels too solid, too realistic.

Flopping over on the grass, Dean is confronted with a dazzling blue sky. He squints at it while he catches his breath. He wouldn't have thought of _that_. It should be a cloudy night, in a graveyard, with ghouls or something else horrible chasing him.

Lying on his back is no good right now. Dean sits up, ready to push himself to his feet, and freezes. His hands. Encrusted with dirt, nails broken, knuckles bloodied, but looking better than he's ever seen them. He flexes his fingers in wonder. They're bigger, broader, more... masculine.

Dean feels lightheaded as he takes stock of the rest of his body. His clothes almost don't fit: looser in some places and tighter in others. His arms are huge. He touches his chest and it's flat. He isn't wearing a binder.

He has a dick now.

Dean sits in the grass, stunned absolutely speechless. He can't believe it. It can't be real. Except he's starting to sweat in his jacket under the sun and his cramped muscles are starting to _hurt_ and there's an ant investigating his left boot. Even his imagination isn't this detailed.

“What the hell is going on?” he hears himself ask, his voice hoarse and satisfyingly deep.

The grass doesn't answer. The ant has no comment. The sky is completely indifferent.

Dean staggers to his feet. That's when he sees the perfectly symmetrical circle of fallen trees, with his former grave at the centre. He shivers. Every instinct he's ever had tells him to run.

Slowly, Dean walks out of the clearing. His shoulders are tensed, waiting for an attack.

When it doesn't come after a few minutes, he lets out a long breath and pretends to relax. Letting your guard down is asking to be taken out. He doesn't look back.

It's hot. Dean takes off his jacket and ties it around his waist. He grins down at himself. He can't help it. He hasn't felt this free in years. Or ever, really.

If this is a dream, it's a damn good one.

He finds a dusty dirt road and picks a direction. Are his legs longer? He's definitely walking differently. Might have to learn how to fight all over again. He's looking forward to it.

Eventually, he finds an abandoned gas station to break into. Thirst drives him to the out-of-order refrigerator. The bottled water is only slightly cooler than room temperature and it tastes like bliss. The newest newspaper says September but who knows how long it's been there.

In the bathroom, he splashes water on his face. Light glinting off the mirror catches his eye. Reflexively, Dean braces himself before he looks at his reflection.

The man staring back at him isn't quite a stranger. Dean imagined looking like this a thousand times. His eyes are the same, his nose. His mouth is a bit thinner, the shape of his face a little changed. It doesn't look unnatural. His reflection smiles. He kind of looks like Sam when he smiles.

Did Sam do this somehow? How did he know?

Dean pulls up his shirt. He's relieved to see his anti-possession tattoo has transferred over. His abs are magnificent. No scars from his death by hell hounds. No scars at all.

When he moves, Dean can feel something on his left shoulder. Might be a bruise from digging himself out of his grave. He rolls up his sleeve.

All of his euphoria drains away. The handprint is burned into his skin. It's red and raised to the touch, like a brand. Something did this to him. His new body isn't a gift. Dean needs to remember that.

He makes himself pull his sleeve back down. He doesn't have time to think about this now. He has to find Sam.

It happens while he's gathering supplies. The gas station TV flicks on to static, then the radio. Dean grabs a package of salt. His ears pop from the pressure change. Something is coming.

Clumsier than he should be, he salts the windowsill. His ears are ringing now. No, he's _hearing_ some kind of high-pitched noise. It grows and grows, until Dean is forced to the floor, his hands over his ears.

The window shatters, spraying glass everywhere. He scrambles out of the way. Above him, the light fixtures explode. The noise feels like it's trying to tear him apart. The other windows burst in quick succession.

Silence falls abruptly. Dean uncovers his ears. Is he deaf? But the pressure is gone too and he can hear his boots scuff against the litter of broken glass as he stands up. He's never experienced anything like that before.

Through the glassless windows, the pay phone he noticed on the way in catches his eye. Screw supplies, he needs to talk to Sam _now_.

Even after so long in Hell, Dean remembers Sam's number.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

Dean exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sam's alive. “Hey, Sammy, it's me,” Dean says, then realizes Sam won't recognize his voice now.

“Who?” Sam asks.

“It's Dee.” He'd gotten Sam to call him that for most of their lives. Dad had hated the nickname. Dean feels a stab of guilt for being glad he won't have to explain this to Dad.

There's silence for a minute and Dean wonders if Sam hung up. Then he says, “No,” so vehemently that Dean takes a step back.

“Sammy, it _is_ me.” Dean wracks his brain for something to convince him. Then he remembers a codeword for when they were in trouble. “Funkytown, okay? But I'm fine.”

“Dee? How?”

“I have no idea,” Dean answers honestly. “Where are you? I'll come to you, I'm in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know where you are,” Sam says quietly.

Oh. Of course he does. “Why'd you bury me?” Dean asks, without meaning to.

Sam laughs. “So you could come back.”

“Mission accomplished, I guess.” Dean says, trying to keep his tone light.

“You sound weird,” Sam says.

“Yeah, that's... we can talk when I get to you.” Dean is _not_ having this conversation over the phone.

“I'm not far away, actually. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Pick me up in _my_ car?” Dean asks, rhetorically. Sam better not have done anything to Baby. “Sure, I'm at the gas station about an hour's walk from... y'know.”

“I'm sure I can find it,” Sam says and he hangs up.

Dean hangs up slowly. It's not like he expects a parade celebrating his return but Sam's reaction was so matter-of-fact. More evidence it was his intervention that brought Dean back. He hopes they'll have better luck breaking Sam's deal than they did with his.

What still doesn't add up is this body. This _perfect_ body. Maybe Sam didn't just make a demon deal.

Dean needs more information. And that reminds him: there's another call he needs to make.

“Yeah?” Bobby answers.

“Bobby? It's me, Dee.”

“Who?”

Dean grits his teeth. “Deanna Winchester.”

“Nice try,” Bobby says and hangs up.

When Dean calls again, Bobby answers with “Who _is_ this?”

“Bobby, just listen to me,” Dean says.

He isn't surprised when Bobby threatens him and hangs up again. His voice, especially over a shitty pay phone connection, doesn't sound at all like it used to.

While he's waiting for Sam, Dean tries not to worry about how he and Bobby are going to react to him. If Dean doesn't explain this right, they'll want to _fix_ his body. And there's no way Dean will let that happen.

\-----

It's a trap. It's so obviously a trap, too. Sam is furious that they think he's stupid enough to fall for this. The demon on the phone didn't even try to sound like Dee. 'We can talk', yeah, right. Anyone who met her would know _that_ was a dead giveaway. The last thing Dee ever wants to do is talk.

He drives faster than he should. Sam was on his way to Pontiac, Illinois already. Ruby let him know something big went down around there this morning. They planned to meet up but that can wait.

Sam hasn't come close to bringing Dee back yet, even after four months. He has nightmares about Dee in Hell most nights. These demons are going to regret trying to mess with him.

His phone rings on the passenger seat. Sam doesn't even glance at it. It's Bobby's ringtone. Sam hasn't picked up a call from him in weeks. Maybe months now. There's no point.

The gas station isn't hard to find. Sam sort of remembers seeing one on the way. That whole day is both sharp and faded in his memory.

Only one demon is visible. He's leaning against the gas station wall, watching the road and fiddling with something on his hand. Sam feels a surge of rage because he remembers seeing Dee stand like that a thousand times when they were waiting for something, twisting her silver beer-bottle-opening ring. It was too big for her. Sam told her once she should wear it on her thumb. Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say. They buried her with that ring on the correct finger.

It's demons who killed Dee. It's demons who are torturing her now. Sam's ready for a little revenge.

The demon waves as Sam pulls in. He's grinning. “Nice ride!” he calls over the noise of the Impala's engine.

Sam's jaw clenches so tight he hears his teeth creak. He turns off the car. As he gets out, he slips Ruby's knife into his belt, hidden by his jacket.

“Hey Sammy,” the demon says, his smile softer.

Sam just stares at him from across the parking lot. There's something familiar about him.

The demon clears his throat. “Uh, so I don't know if you meant this to happen or what.”

“Meant what to happen?” Sam asks.

The demon gestures at himself, and that's when it clicks. He's wearing Dee's clothes.

Before the demon can speak again, Sam is closing the distance between them, Ruby's knife in his hand.

“Whoa, whoa! Sammy, it's _me_!” The demon has his palms out, backing away. He's wearing Dee's ring.

“No!” The word feels like it's tearing out of Sam's throat.

“Stop!” the demon shouts, and for the first time, he sounds like Dee.

Sam stops automatically, breathing hard. “Why would you even try this?” he snarls. “What kind of idiot do you think I am, you stupid demon!”

“What? I'm not a demon, Sam!”

“Well, let's find out,” Sam says. He's too angry to concentrate on a psychic exorcism so the knife will have to do. Besides, he wants to gut this one.

“Sammy, you know that knife will kill a human just as easy as a demon,” the demon says, obviously trying to sound reasonable.

“Why shouldn't I kill you?” Sam yells. “You robbed my sister's grave!”

“Only because I dug myself out of it! And _you_ brought me back in the first place!” the demon snaps, jabbing his finger at Sam.

“What? No, I didn't!” Sam is confused enough to look into the demon's eyes for the first time. They're Dee's eyes. But that's impossible.

“Who else could it have been?” the man in front of him asks.

“I... I tried to,” Sam stammers. It's hard to catch his breath. “I tried _everything_. But no demon would deal. It's been months and Dee's still...” He trails off, staring.

The man spreads his arms. “Seems like something worked.”

“Dee?” Sam asks. He can't believe it. Shouldn't believe it.

“Yeah,” the man says. “So, you wanna try holy water, silver, throw some salt at me, maybe?”

Sam drops the knife. His mind is whirling. Only one coherent thought emerges: he doesn't care anymore if this is a trap. For even a _minute_ of having Dee back, in any form at all, Sam would trade almost anything.

“Sammy?” Dee asks, and different voice or not, that note of concern is so familiar it hurts.

“You're back,” Sam breathes, as he steps forward to throw his arms around Dee.

\-----

The hug is as welcome as it is unexpected. Dean wraps his arms around his brother reflexively. They just hold on for a solid minute. Sam's still taller than Dean, go figure.

His heart is hammering from the near miss. That was way too close.

Dean pulls back a little. Sam lets go and takes a step back. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching.

Dean breathes out. “Like I said on the phone, I have no idea. Except, well...” He doesn't know how to say this.

“What?” Sam asks.

“This body... fits me better,” Dean says, awkwardly.

Sam's brow furrows. “But you're—oh.” He blinks at Dean. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He's braced for the worst now.

“Dee, are you telling me you're transgender?” Sam asks, gently.

“Yeah,” Dean says again. “I guess I am.” He clears his throat. “Yes, I am.”

“Oh. Okay,” Sam says.

Now it's Dean's turn to stare. “ _Okay_?”

“Yeah, okay. Uh, tell me more about it?” Sam asks.

Dean can't believe his ears. “What?”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “I mean, you don't have to explain but I—Dee, how long have you known?”

“No, wait, back up,” Dean says, holding his hand up. “You're fine with this? You find out I'm really your brother and everything is okay?”

“Yeah, Dee, everything's okay. I wish I'd known before, but I'm glad you told me.” Sam smiles at him.

“I kind of had to tell you,” Dean says. “Jesus, this is insane.” He runs his hand through his hair. Dirt sprinkles the ground beside him.

“Come on, let's go into town and get you a shower. And, uh, some different clothes maybe,” Sam says, bending down to pick the knife back up. “You can borrow some of mine, if you want.”

Dean stops himself from asking again if Sam's sure. He'd hoped not to be rejected, of course, but he didn't let himself count on it. He can't really be this lucky, can he?

Sam tosses him the keys. “I assume you'll want to drive?”

\-----

Sam has so many questions. He holds them back for now.

After complaining about the iPod jack, Dee's been pretty quiet. Sam tries to pretend he isn't watching him. Dee looks more comfortable in his skin than Sam's ever seen him. But that makes sense now. A lot of things make more sense now.

“I've always known,” Dee says, after a while of driving in silence. He doesn't look at Sam. “Ever since I was a little kid. Even before.”

Before the fire. Sam takes a deep breath. “Why didn't you say?”

Dee shrugs. “At first, I didn't know what it was, didn't have the words. And Dad—you know how he was.”

Oh, Sam knows all right. He still remembers the first time Dad told him to 'take care of your sister'. Sam isn't sure who was more shocked: him or Dee.

“And after?” Sam asks.

“I... I didn't wanna lose you. Or Bobby.” Sam sees a muscle jump in Dee's jaw, his torn up knuckles tight on the steering wheel.

“You're not going to,” Sam promises.

“Yeah, well,” Dee says but then doesn't go on.

Sam realizes something he should have thought of already. The pronouns are easy to switch. Dee's body change is enough to make that simple for Sam when Dee is right in front of him. But his name. “Do you, um, have a name figured out?” Sam asks.

“Dean,” his brother says, immediately.

Sam nods. “Okay, Dean.”

“Oh, this is weird,” Dean breathes. “I didn't think... it would be like this.”

Sam can't help but laugh a little. “Okay, well, tell me if you want to stop. I don't want to mess this up.”

“God, Sam, don't pity me, okay?” Dean still isn't looking at him.

“I'm not! I just—” Sam stops himself from saying he knows what it's like not to fit in. There are still some things he can't say to Dean, even with this new openness. “I missed you,” he says instead.

“Of course you did, I'm awesome,” Dean says. Sam isn't sure if he's being sarcastic or if he means it.

They drive on in silence for a few minutes. Sam knows Dean wants him to drop it, but he can't help but say one more time, “You could've told me before.”

“It wouldn't have made a difference. We couldn't do anything about it.” Dean glances at Sam as he says it. He looks tired.

Sam shakes his head. “We could have! There's—”

Dean cuts him off. “Hormones and surgery and oh so very much therapy. Where'd we get the money, let alone the _time_ , for all that, huh?”

“I can't believe you just gave up without even trying!” Sam feels his hands curling into fists and he forces them out flat on his knees again.

“Do you remember what I went through even with birth control?” Dean asks. “Always some kind of problem like no family doctor, wrong brand, no address, we can't afford it. Anything to do with this would've been worse.”

Sam remembers the long, drawn-out war teenage Dean waged against Dad to get on birth control in the first place. He sighs. “I just wish I could've _helped_.”

“Hey, don't worry about it. It's fine now,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “That isn't how it works, Dean.”

Dean smiles. “Well, that's how I'm working it,” he says, like that settles the issue. “I'm starving, let's hit a drive-thru on the way in.”

Some things never change. “Sure,” Sam says.

Dean's smile turns into a grin. “You're buying. Somehow, I don't have my wallet on me.”

\-----

After the best shower of his entire life, Dean discovers he forgot to bring clean clothes into the bathroom with him. He's going to need a whole new wardrobe. Clothes shopping will definitely be more fun now.

He catches sight of the handprint in the mirror. For a moment, it's like he's back in Hell: blood on his face, howling screams, pain. Then it's gone.

Dean shakes himself. It's over, he's out. No point in dwelling on it now.

He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Sam? Can I get some clothes?”

Sam passes him a duffle bag. “Here. I don't have any of those compression shirt things but we can go shopping later maybe.”

Dean doesn't know what he's talking about. “Those what?”

“You always wear them, I don't know what they're called,” Sam says, a little impatient.

Dean closes his eyes for a second. This kid. “Binders, Sam.”

Sam shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I don't need them anymore.” He didn't even think Sam knew about his binder. Dean always tried to hide it.

Sam doesn't look enlightened.

“They were for my... uh.” Dean opens the door a little more and gestures at his chest.

Sam's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Let's never talk about that again,” Dean says and shuts the door.

Sam's clothes are a bit too big but not unmanageable. The sleeves are the worst. “Are you secretly an orangutan, Sammy?” Dean mutters to himself as he rolls them up way too many times.

When he comes back out into the motel room, Sam's on the phone, whispering. He hangs up when he notices Dean.

“Who was that? Bobby?” Dean asks.

“No,” Sam says, “It's nothing.” He stands up from where he was sitting on one of the beds. “All good?”

“Yeah, except you're a giant,” Dean says, pretending to let it go. He spreads his arms to demonstrate.

Sam snorts. “You never wear clothes that fit anyway.” He bites his lip. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

Jesus. The walking on eggshells is getting old fast. “Yeah, I remember,” Dean says.

Sam snaps his fingers. “Right, I almost forgot.” He pulls the necklace he's wearing out of his shirt and over his head. “You probably want this back.”

It's the amulet Sam gave Dean when they were kids. The one Dean wore every day since then. “Thanks,” he says, touched.

As he puts it on, Sam asks, hesitantly, “Hey Dean, what was it like?”

Dean looks up. “What?”

“Hell,” Sam says, his face all concerned.

Dean shrugs. “Must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing,” he lies.

Sam nods. “Well, thank god for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He needs a distraction so they can stop talking about this. “So, are you on the trail of anything right now?”

“You want to go on a hunt?” Sam asks, eyebrows up.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Dean, you dug yourself out of your grave _this morning_.”

“All the more reason to get back on the horse,” Dean says breezily.

Sam sighs and sits back down on his bed. “Well, I did come here tracking some demons.”

“Demons, plural? By yourself?” Dean asks.

“I was trying to hunt down Lilith, get a little payback.” Sam isn't meeting Dean's eye.

Dean's stomach drops at the thought of Sam doing something so dangerously stupid alone. He sits down on the other bed across from Sam and leans forward. “How did you even get away from her when I died? I thought she was ready to kill you.”

“She tried. She fired this burning white light at me and it didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune,” Sam says.

“Uh huh,” Dean says, “Is that because of your freaky ESP crap?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sam asks, which is fair.

Dean doesn't want to ask Sam if he's been using his weird powers but Sam must see the question on his face because he goes on, “And no, I haven't been using it. I know you didn't—don't want that.”

“Good to hear,” Dean says. “Let's keep it that way.”

Sam stands up. “I should shower, I've been on the road a while.” He doesn't quite slam the bathroom door.

Dean sighs. It's a sore spot for both of them but he needs to keep Sam safe. Safe definitely does not include being psychic.

Sam's phone rings. Dean picks it up. He's curious about who Sam was talking to before. “Hello?”

“Finally, you answer your damn phone,” Bobby says.

This was a mistake. Dean tries to sound like Sam. “Bobby?”

“Yeah, of course it's me. You've been dodging my calls all this time.”

“Uh,” Dean says, because he can't think of anything else.

“How've you been holding up, son?” Bobby asks, his voice softer.

Dean closes his eyes. Just for a second, he lets himself pretend Bobby is asking _him_ that question. Some things you can't have in real life.

“Sam?” Bobby prompts.

Dean hangs up. Bobby will worry but he sounds worried already.

Sam's phone rings again and Dean lets it go to voicemail.

\-----

Sam sneaks out of the motel room after Dean falls asleep. The two of them drove all over town, looking for demons but came up empty. Ruby told him where she'd be waiting hours ago and Sam can only hope she's still there.

He parks in front of the diner. Ruby taps on the passenger window a few minutes later then gets in the car. “Almost gave you up,” she says.

“Did you find out anything?” Sam asks.

“Sam, you know the other demons hate me,” Ruby says, giving him a hurt look she probably doesn't mean.

Sam sighs. “Then do you at least know where they are?”

“Here,” Ruby says, pointing through the windshield at the diner. “Not right this second, but they've infested the place during operating hours.”

“Great. I'll come back tomorrow and—”

Ruby cuts him off. “They don't know anything either. They're just minion-level.” She pauses. “I did hear a name: Castiel.”

“Is that what brought my sister out of Hell?” Sam asks. He catches the slip of the tongue too late, then thinks better of revealing Dean's body change and gender identity to Ruby. They're doing good work together but he doesn't fully trust her.

Ruby shrugs. “It could be. I have no idea what it is though.”

“A demon, right? What else could?” Sam asks.

She shakes her head. “Not possible. It would take too much power. No demon can swing that.”

Sam sighs heavily. “Then, I guess we'll have to find out more information some other way.”

“When you say 'we', you don't mean you and me anymore, do you?” Ruby asks.

Sam doesn't know how to answer that.

“It's fine. I know I'm your second choice,” Ruby says over her shoulder, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait,” Sam says impulsively.

Ruby turns back, smiling a little. “Thought of something only I can give you?” she asks teasingly.

\-----

Dean doesn't even remember falling asleep fully dressed on top of the covers. The static of the TV wakes him up. He can feel pressure in his chest. He gropes around for a shotgun but can't find one.

Sam isn't in the room. Where did he go?

The ringing starts, just like last time, high-pitched and piercing. It gets louder until Dean is clutching his ears. The mirror on the ceiling shatters, showering him with shards of broken glass. Dean hits the floor.

This time, the pressure is even more intense. Dean cries out as all the glass in the room shatters at once.

He's left gasping as the pressure wave recedes. Dean staggers to his feet. He grabs the room phone and dials Sam's number.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?” Dean pants.

“Dee? Are you okay?”

He can hardly hear Sam over the leftover ringing in his ears. “Come back now. We have to go.”

“What happened?”

“I'll tell you when you get here,” Dean says and hangs up. Blood drips into his eyes. He has a few tiny cuts from the mirror glass but can't feel anything major.

They have to figure out what this thing is. There's no avoiding it now: they have to go see Bobby and find out if he knows anything.

And even if he reacts badly to Dean, Bobby will still help Sam. That'll have to be enough.

\-----

They reach Bobby's place in Sioux Falls, South Dakota the next day. Sam slept a lot of the way. He told Dean he went out for a burger last night but Dean doesn't believe it.

“Want me to talk to him first?” Sam asks.

Dean blinks, losing his staring contest with the house. “ _No_ ,” he snaps, turning to open the car door.

Behind him, Dean hears Sam sigh. But he gets out of the car too and is right beside Dean when he knocks.

Bobby pulls the door open. He looks tired and annoyed and so familiar that it's hard to breathe. “Hey Sam,” Bobby says.

“Hey Bobby,” Sam says, smiling awkwardly like they're strangers.

There's a pause where Bobby stares at both of them. He's probably waiting for Sam to introduce Dean and Sam is definitely waiting for Dean to introduce himself. Dean clears his throat. Even after running the conversation through his head the whole way here, he's got nothing.

“Who's this?” Bobby asks, finally.

Dean can feel Sam looking at him without turning his head. “I'm back,” he manages to croak.

Bobby narrows his eyes. “Am I supposed to know you?”

“I don't look the same,” Dean says. Understatement of the century. “But it's me, Dee Winchester.” He can't bring himself to say his deadname right now.

Bobby freezes.

“It's true, Bobby,” Sam says. “He's alive.”

Bobby's eyes slowly widen until he's practically pop-eyed, staring at Dean. “Sam... what did you do?” he asks softly.

“I didn't do anything!” Sam protests. “He just called me up yesterday, fresh out of the ground!”

“It's a trick,” Bobby says, still staring. “Has to be.”

Sam starts to argue but Dean elbows him, taking a half-step forward. “Not a trick, Bobby,” he says. He has to tell him now. Now or never. “This is the body I always wanted. I'm trans,” Dean says. He feels sick. This is it.

Bobby nods. “And how'd you get it?” he asks.

That's... not what Dean expected him to say. “I don't know,” he says slowly, waiting for the catch.

Bobby takes a deep breath. “Oh, that's why you're here, huh?” he asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, just waves vaguely toward the living room. “I'll get you boys some beer,” he says, and turns toward the kitchen.

Dean stares after him. Sam enters the house, grinning over his shoulder.

It can't be this easy. All those years trying to hide, trying to find a way around it, and then the truth comes out and there aren't any consequences?

Dean follows Sam inside. Bobby's house hasn't changed. Stacks of books, papers, and weapons everywhere, including the floor. Dean keeps expecting everything to be different.

“See? That wasn't so bad,” Sam says, quietly, sitting down on the couch.

Dean shakes his head and leans against the wall. “Not over yet,” he says.

Sam sighs.

Bobby comes back then, carrying three opened bottles of beer. He hands one each to Sam and Dean casually, like nothing happened. It's starting to piss Dean off.

Bobby leans against the front of his desk, instead of sitting behind it.

“Uh, cheers,” Sam says, awkwardly, and takes a gulp of his beer.

Bobby is staring at Dean again, holding his beer like he's forgotten about it.

“You knew?” Dean asks. Instantly, he wants to take the question back.

“About what?” Bobby asks.

“About me,” Dean says. He meets Bobby's stare as levelly as he can, anger twisting inside him. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Why didn't _you_?” Bobby asks.

He couldn't risk it, not when Bobby's the closest thing he has to a father. Would he have ever said anything, without this miracle? Dean looks away. He takes a swig of his beer to buy himself a few seconds.

Dean catches Bobby's movement out of the corner of his eye, and glances up to see him setting his bottle gently down on the desk. It clinks against another glass bottle already there, the tiny sound loud in the silence. Even Sam seems to be holding his breath.

Bobby shoves away from the desk, crossing the short distance between them. “Come here,” he says and hugs Dean.

Dean hugs him back, confused.

Bobby pulls back to arm's length but doesn't let go of Dean. “I didn't know, I suspected,” he says. “And I should've tried harder to let you know you could trust me.”

Dean has no idea what to say to that. Bobby holds on to his arms for a moment longer, then releases his grip. He retrieves his beer from the desk. “Sorry about that,” Bobby says, “I had to make sure.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“The beer,” Sam says suddenly.

Bobby salutes him with his bottle and drinks from it. “Holy water. You only need to add a tiny bit because—”

“Holy water can't be diluted,” Sam finishes.

Dean examines the bottle in his hand and cautiously takes another sip. It tastes the same as he remembers. “You always put holy water in your guests' drinks?” he asks.

“Only when they come back from the dead,” Bobby says, dryly.

Dean smiles at his tone. It's comfortingly familiar.

“And of course, Sam's done the other tests,” Bobby continues. “So there's no point in repeating them.”

Dean looks at Sam and Sam looks back wide-eyed. “Uh, no, I guess I forgot,” Sam says.

“Give me a silver knife, I'll set your mind at ease,” Dean says to Bobby.

Bobby hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it's fine. You're too solid to be a ghost and no shifter would know about... the body thing.”

Dean's curiosity gets the better of him. “So, you suspected? How?”

“You think you're the only trans hunter I know?” Bobby asks.

“Who else?” Sam asks.

“When they want you to know, they'll tell you themselves,” Bobby says. “I ain't gonna out anybody.”

“Wow,” Dean says, without meaning to. It's a lot to wrap his head around.

Bobby glances at him. “But I can ask if you want. See if they'd talk to you about it,” he says.

Dean shakes his head automatically. “No, that's fine. I'm good now.” He takes a swig of beer to cover his whirling thoughts. If he can keep Sam _and_ Bobby, why would he need anyone else? A community of people like him is a dream Dean's never considered realistically.

He doesn't deserve to just be handed what he always wanted.

\-----

Sam drinks his beer faster than he normally would. It's a relief the holy water has no effect on him. Proof he hasn't gone too far yet.

Bobby circles his desk to sit down on the chair behind it. “So, do you have any idea how you got back?” he asks Dean.

“No, not really. But I think whatever did it is looking for me.” Dean explains about the ringing sound and broken glass in the hotel room. Sam only saw the smashed window from outside. They left pretty fast.

“Same thing at the gas station, soon after I popped up,” Dean says.

Sam blinks at him. Dean never mentioned anything weird happening there.

“That's not much to go on,” Bobby says, dubiously.

Sam clears his throat. “I might have something,” he says.

Dean turns to him, surprise all over his face. “How?” he asks.

“I heard a name: Castiel. It could be connected.” Sam hopes Ruby's information is good.

Dean crosses his arms, empty beer bottle dangling from one hand. “And how could you possibly have heard that?” he asks, glaring challengingly at Sam.

“I woke up remembering it. I guess I had a vision,” Sam lies.

Dean groans. “No, not again! You said you were done with that crap.”

“I'm trying! Anyway, who cares where it came from, if it helps us?” Sam snaps. Dean can't see the big picture.

“I thought those visions of yours stopped, Sam,” Bobby says, narrowing his eyes.

They have. He hasn't had one since before Dean died. “Me too,” Sam says, grateful to be able to tell that much of the truth.

“What did you say it was? Castiel?” Dean asks. “I've never heard of it.”

A tapping on the window behind him makes Sam turn quickly. But it's only the wind blowing a little gravel around.

“I could do some digging,” Bobby is saying as Sam turns back around. “Not gonna be fast though. Most of these books don't have name indexes.”

“We should summon it,” Dean says.

Sam stares at him. “What? You're crazy.” What if Ruby misheard the name or the demons she spied on were talking about something else?

“It's come after me twice already. I say we go on the offensive,” Dean says.

“This is a bad idea,” Bobby says, shaking his head.

“Dean, there's other options than just tackling the thing head-on,” Sam argues.

Dean grins at him. “And when have we ever taken the easy road, huh? I'll go get some supplies from the car.” He strides confidently from the room.

Sam sighs.

“What did you call Dee?” Bobby asks.

“Dean. He chose it.”

Bobby nods. “Suits him.” He stands up. “You've been good about all this.”

Sam's honestly a little insulted. “How else could I be? He's my brother.” Though it still feels strange to use that word.

“No, Sam, I mean I'm proud of you,” Bobby says, sounding a bit exasperated. He walks around the desk.

Sam stands up. He's not sure how to respond. He doesn't have much experience with this kind of thing.

Bobby wraps his arms around Sam in a fierce hug. “It's good to see you,” he says, his voice muffled.

“You too,” Sam says. He feels himself relax a little.

Bobby lets go. “You scared me, going off on your own like that. Reminded me of your old man.”

Sam stiffens. “I'm nothing like he was,” he says.

“I don't know about that. You're both the same kind of stubborn when you think you're right about something.”

He's wrong. But Sam can't say so without sounding like he's proving Bobby's point. Instead, he says, “Well, everything's back to normal now.”

“Yeah, we're gonna risk our necks like normal to find out more about something that wants to kill us,” Bobby says, grimacing.

It's better than the alternative. Anything is better than that. And maybe, between the two of them, they can convince Dean not to do the summoning.

Dean reenters the house, loaded down with duffle bags that clank as he moves. “I've got a bit of everything,” he says. “Where should we set up?”

“We need to talk more first, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean hitches one of the bags higher on his shoulder as he rolls his eyes. Sam notices something weird as the short sleeve of his T-shirt moves up.

“What's that?” Sam asks, crossing the room to get a better look.

“What?” Dean asks, taking a step back.

“On your left shoulder,” Sam says, reaching out. “Let me see.”

Bobby joins them. “Is that a burn?”

“It's nothing,” Dean says.

Sam pulls on the duffle bag strap. Dean doesn't let go of it.

Bobby pushes the cloth up, and Sam catches Dean's wince. “Nothing, my ass,” Bobby says.

Sam focuses on Dean's shoulder. A handprint, red and angry-looking, stands out against his skin. Sam stares at it. “Is that from...” He trails off.

“I don't have another mark on me, so I'd say it's not from Hell,” Dean says. He shrugs away from Sam and Bobby.

Anger burns through Sam. How dare something mark Dean like that? He turns to Bobby. “Do you have somewhere in mind for the summoning?” he asks.

“There's an old barn a few miles down the road. A little more graffiti there won't make a difference to anybody,” Bobby says, still looking at the handprint.

Dean nods. “Let's get to work then. I'd rather summon this thing before dark, if we can.”

\-----

The vessel encumbers Castiel, for all it is strong enough to contain angelic Grace. So long without one and then the sudden necessity is a source of irritation. To speak with Dean directly would be preferable. Two unsuccessful attempts at contact is one too many, Castiel knows. Regrettably, the vessel is necessary.

Entering the outbuilding causes lightbulbs to burst, throwing sparks and shadows down to the vessel. The greeting of shotgun blasts from the three men is amusing. Walls covered in religious symbols and not one of them can affect an angel. Dean does not recognize Castiel yet. He will understand soon.

“Hello Dean.”

The three men look at each other, their eyes wide. “Who are you?” Dean asks.

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Castiel can see the handprint on Dean through his clothing. He will carry it always upon his soul, whether it is visible on his skin or not. An unintentional effect but a strangely satisfying one. Evidence to prove who pulled him out of Hell.

Being stabbed by a knife for killing demons shows Castiel the vessel was even more necessary than expected. Communication must be clear. Orders must not be misunderstood. Castiel pulls the knife out.

Robert Singer attacks with an iron rod. Castiel catches it easily and send him to sleep with a touch on his forehead.

“Bobby!” Sam Winchester yells. He runs forward. Castiel reaches out to send him to sleep as well.

“No!” Dean cries.

Castiel pauses. Sam hits out with all his strength, bolstered by the demon blood still in his system. The impact of his weapon has no effect on the vessel.

“We need to talk, Dean. Alone,” Castiel says.

Sam staggers back, Dean pushes between Sam and Castiel. “So talk,” he says, anger sharpening his words. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Castiel.” Of course he knows this. The summoning was crude and clumsy but it included the correct name.

“What did you do to Bobby?” Sam asks. He drops to his knees to examine the fallen man.

“Your friend is alive,” Castiel reassures Dean.

“He better be,” Dean says. The threat in his voice causes Castiel to smile slightly. This protective instinct will be valuable in the coming battles.

“He's breathing,” Sam reports. He stares up at Castiel. “What are you?” he asks.

In answer, Castiel touches his forehead to send him to sleep. He collapses beside the other man.

“Only you should hear what I have to tell you,” Castiel says to Dean.

Dean's glare is fierce. “What makes me so special then?”

“We have work for you.”

“Terrific,” Dean says.

Castiel agrees. It _is_ terrific to have the Righteous Man back on Earth and ready to fulfill his purpose.

“Who's 'we' anyway?” Dean asks. “And why bring me back from Hell?”

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel says. A difficult mission, accomplished well.

Dean makes a sound with his nose. “God? God never did anything for me.” Which is manifestly untrue, of course. How can Dean even think that way? Questions and small doubts are understandable. Even Castiel has those. But this attitude is completely baffling.

Castiel steps closer. Dean leans back. “This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith,” Castiel says.

“What are you, some kind of religious nut?” Dean asks.

“I'm an angel of the Lord,” Castiel explains.

“No such thing.”

“Will you even disbelieve your own eyes?” Castiel asks, taking a few steps away. With concentration, a small fragment of angelic Grace is revealed, producing a crash of thunder and flash of lightning. For a moment, Dean perceives Castiel's wings. To prevent injury, Castiel folds fully back into the vessel.

“Did you... did you change my body?” Dean asks, a little breathless, eyes wide.

Castiel nods. “I made a few minor adjustments.”

Anger closes Dean's face again. “Why make me trans in the first place then, huh? If _God_ wanted me to have this body now,” he asks.

“It's really very similar to the other one. The end result will be the same.” Castiel needs to tread carefully.

Dean moves closer, not longer as confrontational. This is good progress. They will become allies. “Wait. Did anyone tell you to do this for me?”

“I healed your body,” Castiel says, slowly. Let him be satisfied with that.

Dean exhales forcefully. “It was you then, not God or anything. This was just _you_. Why?”

Why can't he let it go? “Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel deflects.

“Not in my experience. Why?” Dean asks again.

Castiel gives in. There will be consequences for this. Dean deserves the truth. “I heard your prayer.”

Surprise changes Dean's entire stance. “My _what_?”

“You asked for this body. Years ago. With the power of Heaven behind me, I could change your circumstances.” Castiel does not regret the decision. Heaven will need the strength of every warrior soon so any punishment will not be debilitating. Besides, this change once done cannot be undone easily and that is what is truly important.

\------

Dean stares at the angel. The angel who literally answered the most desperate desire of his heart. He remembers thinking it was a miracle and it turns out he was right.

Castiel seems content to let Dean have as much time as he wants to try to process that. He stares into Dean's eyes from way too close. It's distracting. He's certainly attractive enough to be an angel. Anybody would be able to see that, it's not like _Dean_ is attracted to him. He's always been attracted to women, though acting on it was obviously complicated. He's admired men, sure, but that's only because he wanted what they had, isn't it?

“What do they want me to do?” Dean asks, finally, dragging his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“I will be in touch,” Castiel says. Dean's pretty sure that's relief in his voice. It's hard to tell.

Dean blinks and Castiel is gone. He looks around the dark barn but he's the only one left standing. “Oh, he can teleport too. Awesome,” Dean says under his breath.

His hands are shaking so he pushes them into his pockets. He tries to push his emotions down the same way. An actual angel dragged him out of Hell. The absolute last thing he would have expected.

Guilt churns Dean's stomach. What did he ever do to deserve personal attention from an angel? Castiel isn't anything like his vague memories of angels from Mom's stories. She did always say angels were watching over Dean. The thought makes his skin crawl.

He shakes himself. Nothing he can do about it now. Either they're watching him or they're not, no reason to change his behaviour at this point.

Dean settles down to wait for his family to wake up.


End file.
